Waiting for a chance
by hagnes
Summary: LM/SS It's hard to resist when a caring and beautiful being embraces and comforts you. It can easily turn into hurt, however, if you realize that you were just being used by him. And when the tables are turned...


**Waiting for a chance**

Sour.

Instead of the melting feeling of milk in my tea I prefer it sour with lemon. This is the flavour that seems to have haunted me through my entire life. That is perhaps the reason why I turned out to be a sour teacher.

The most laughable work that has ever existed.

You can never earn respect - however much so called professionals may propagate, - you can only awoke their fear. And hate. I know I'm hated. And I prefer to be feared, too.

Respect? I haven't sought it forever. Maybe that is why I'm so sour.

It wasn't always like this… or… ah, well! Why not face reality? It _has_ always been like this.

My childhood is not worth mentioning. One can conclude trough looking at my years in Hogwarts as a student. It was like hell. Living hell. They hated me all. Every shitty little student.

Nobody cared about me. They ignored me. Except that quartet. And what good care they took of me! I was bullied non-stop. It was even a pain to get up in the morning. My stomach started to ache when I had to think about the day before me and the common lessons with the hated house.

Potter. Yes, their leader. The deeply hated James Potter. It is hard to admit even now that I feared him greatly. Or at least his extra attention.

And then _he_ came.

From a noble and respected family. Strong and beautiful. Older, but by not too much. Powerful without fear.

He wiped away the tears from my cheeks. He promised everything I needed then: strength, revenge, a life worth living. A goal.

A passion.

The darkness became my goal and he my passion.

I worked hard for him. I wanted to earn his respect and gradually his love. He completely and fatally seduced me. I was full of him every day, hour, minute, second, although he has never even given me so much as a kiss.

I only felt his warmth against my back and his whispering into my ear from behind. Ah, God, how his breath tickled me, like the sweetest breeze through the heaviest summer, sending shivers down my spine.

I felt my heart beating out of my chest every time, but I was too shy and proud to ask for anything; although I was expecting everything. Above all I was expecting it to be mutual. It had to be mutual!

But it wasn't like this. He only used me and my treasured feelings.

He was planning to marry.

He didn't tell me himself. I heard it during a hidden gathering. I couldn't afford to go hysteric there, of course. I only went pale, watching as the Dark Lord patted him on the shoulder, moving slowly with the rest to stand in a circle around him, waiting for my turn to shake his hand and congratulate.

What hurt the most was his happy smile. It was casual, like always. It didn't hold a tiny bit of guilt or embarrassment for what he was doing to me – what he very well knew he was doing to me.

Later, he did it again.

His warmth was against my back, as usual; tickling breath playing in my hair; his lips against my ear – never touching, only barely. An unfulfilled promise.

By then I already understood it. I have been used by this man, by the one whose words promised to help with my revenge and whose every move promised to make my loneliness disappear.

Those lips, that have always made me feel special, they whispered one cruel word into my ear then. It was hotter and colder, than ever before.

"Jealous?..."

"Congratulations on your engagement."

The words fell casual and composed from my lips while my heart was breaking. Just like I meant them to be. He chuckled and put his hands on my shoulders. His voice was as deep, as ever. This time it didn't send shivers through my body.

I was too numb.

"You know this means a lot to me. Thank you."

_I know how much this exactly means to you._

"You are welcome."

I wished he would just go away already.

Instead his hands slid unhurriedly down my upper arms. This has been the most physical contact we have ever shared.

_Was he afraid, that I would hold a grudge against him for his betrayal? _

We said our goodbyes.

_He God damn should have been! _

_Lucius Malfoy! I swear you are going to…_

"…regret it."

The words are falling softly and unconsciously from my lips.

He is at my door.

I invite him in.

He is telling me everything that I already know about Draco and that he is lost. That there were being problems with him.

I smile.

He is desperate.

Inside, I smile even darker.

He is asking for my help. He knows very well that I am not on his – their – side anymore. He also knows that I left _them_ because of him. He is trying to persuade me with the fact, that I am still Draco's godfather and that it must mean something to me.

_Oh, yes. Another role he forced on me, trying to chain me to him when there was nothing more he could do. _

I calmly tell him that Draco would not be harmed. That he only happened to be switching sides.

He is standing from his chair, putting down the tea I brought him earlier. He had it with milk. I had mine with lemon.

He is starting to pace nervously. He is telling me that this is all 'that Potter's' fault. That he persuaded Draco over. That he even got his son to fake documents about that Weasley-scum's family.

I find it highly amusing how he is suffering. Shall I let him suffer some more? Hmm… I think I have all the time in the world, so I just casually state that he has lost Draco and that he should simply accept it.

He is looking unbelievingly at me. He is telling me, that this is impossible. Draco has to follow the family line and not fooling around with the enemy; bringing himself in danger.

Then I can't help it. I let the bomb explode. I am revealing that his beloved son is safe and is being taken really good care of by his _male_ lover.

He is stiffening and going pale. Then he is sinking back into his chair still in shock. He is shaking his head in denial. It can't be. Not _his_ son. Draco is perfect. He is surely just confused at the moment.

It must be that Potter's fault. He must have seduced Draco. Damned wonder-boy!

It is time to turn that knife a few times more, I decide. And I am telling him the whole story. About his beloved son, getting it from a man, who is not even someone as outstanding and remarkable, as The Boy.

I am telling him that his son is happy and that he won't go back to him. Not in this lifetime.

He is sitting there, right before me, broken. Staring into the air, digesting what he has just heard.

I am leaning back in my armchair contently. No, I am not happy. I am still far from that. But at least I don't feel sour at the moment.

I am wondering what he will do and say, when he snapped out of it.

Will he ask me for help? What will he offer? Will I consider it?

We are back to where we were before. He has no wife – for a dead one doesn't count – not a son anymore, nothing.

What will happen?

He is looking up at last, meeting my eyes.

I am leaning forward. My elbows are resting on my thighs and my chin on the back of my hands.

I am waiting.

My life is just getting interesting.

**~End~**


End file.
